


Tattoo You

by JiniZ



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Self-Doubt, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 06:39:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12676422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JiniZ/pseuds/JiniZ
Summary: Dean sits in the chair, resolutely not wincing at the near constant stick of the needle in and out of his deltoid. He clenches his teeth a little, but he refuses to show any pain. After all, he’s already got a tattoo, plus he’s been shot, he’s broken his leg, and been sliced open and stitched up more times than he can count. A little tattoo shouldn’t bother him.





	Tattoo You

**Author's Note:**

> [DMSilvasArt](https://dmsilvisart.tumblr.com/) has been an absolute _joy_ to work with and her art is a-MA-zing. So happy I got to snag this up.

Dean sits in the chair, resolutely not wincing at the near constant stick of the needle in and out of his deltoid. He clenches his teeth a little, but he refuses to show any pain. After all, he’s already got a tattoo, plus he’s been shot, he’s broken his leg, and been sliced open and stitched up more times than he can count. A little tattoo shouldn’t bother him.

_But it’s not a little tattoo_ , he thinks. It’s easily twice the size of the anti-possession tattoo on his chest, and more detailed. Not that that matters. It’s the meaning behind the tattoo that makes him wince more than anything. He shakes his head at himself in disgust.

“You okay?” The tattoo artist asks, barely looking up from his work.

“Yeah.” _Well that sounded weak._ “Yeah,” he says again, more forcefully.

“Your first tattoo?” The guy pauses to wipe the ink and blood off Dean’s arm and take a look at the work.

Dean scoffs like he’s got a hundred of them. “Second,” he manages. “Thanks again for calling.”

“No problem. You seemed like you wanted it done quickly, and I had a cancellation. If I’m not tattooing, I’m not making any money, you know?”

“I still appreciate it,” Dean says. When the needle hits his skin again, he drops his head back and closes his eyes.

Several minutes pass in silence, Dean doing his best not to think of why he’s getting the tattoo, and failing miserably. He’s jolted out of his thoughts by the artist saying something, but he wasn’t paying attention. “Do what?” he asks.

“I said, it’s an interesting design,” the artist says. Dean mumbles a thanks. “How’d you come up with it?”

Dean blushes and hopes the guy doesn’t notice, or if he does, interprets it as Dean being shy about his artwork, not the actual meaning behind it. “It’s uh...it’s just something I’ve been thinking about for a few years.”

The artist wipes down his arm again. “What language is it?”

“Enochian.”

“Never heard of it.”

“It’s the language of angels,” Dean says. His blush intensifies and he could kick himself for offering that up.

“Angels, huh?” The artist sounds bemused as if he doesn’t believe in them. “I’ve inked too many angel wings to count over the years, but you’re the first to ask for their language.” He inks a few more lines. “Didn’t even know they had one.”

“Oh, they do, trust me.” He tries not to chuckle outright.

“I’ll have to take your word for it.” After another pause, the artist adds, “What does it say?”

The breath Dean takes in becomes a cough, and the artist is forced to stop what he’s doing while Dean composes himself. “It’s a name,” he says finally.

The artist nods and smiles. “Gotcha. Girlfriend?”

“No. Definitely not.”

“Well, good. Because I can tell you, it never works out. You’d be back here within a week getting her name inked over.”

“Happens often, does it?” The artist nods. “It’s a friend. He’s -” Dean’s not even sure he can say the words out loud, but the artist isn’t anyone Dean actually _knows,_ so he can tell a stranger easier than he could Sam. “He’s gone. And I miss him.”

The artist stops again and sits back. “I’m sorry, man,” he offers as a comfort. “I get it now.” When Dean cocks his head to the side, the artist continues, “This tattoo. It’s a tribute. The angel wings and language. That’s nice.”

“Thanks,” Dean says softly. If only he knew the half of it.

The artist goes back to his work, and Dean’s thoughts drift again to the night he told Cas he couldn’t stay. It’s easily the hundredth time he’s dwelled on it, turned it over in his mind, trying to convince himself that it’s what was best for Cas.

And once again, he doesn’t believe anything he tells himself.

He shouldn’t have done it. He knows that. But what choice did he have? He needed Ezekiel to keep Sam alive, and Dean will always, _always_ choose Sam over everything else, even his own happiness.

But the other part. Why now? Why not after Cas took on the Leviathans or when he got back from Purgatory? Dean’s anger outweighed any fondness he had for the angel at the time. But sending Castiel away was all Dean’s doing, no one else’s. His guilt outweighs his shame, and maybe this one little thing will make him feel better.

“Why here?” the artist asks wiping his skin again.

_It’s where the original was,_ Dean thinks. He knows he can’t say that out loud, though. “He liked to put his hand on my shoulder,” is all he manages to get out. He swallows hard.

“It’s a nice tribute.”

“Thanks.”

They go back to silence once more. Dean’s thoughts drift to finding Cas at the Gas-N-Sip. _Steve,_ he thinks. He found Steve at the Gas-N-Sip. He remembers the feeling he’d had the moment he’d seen Cas through the storefront, and his heart aches just a bit more. He chuckles at the thought of making sure Cas was ready for his date with Nora. How he’d made Cas unbutton an extra button on his shirt. How they’d killed Ephraim. How he left Cas there.

His mind meanders back to he and Sam meeting Cas in that bar. “Cas is back in town.” How his face lit up when he addressed Sam as “Agent.” When he had his first beer, bought his first round.

Right before Gadreel reminded Dean that Castiel had to go. Again.  

If he’s being honest with himself, he has no idea what to do anymore. But honest with himself is the last thing Dean Winchester is.

Dean is about to ask for a break because he doesn’t like where his inner thoughts are headed. That coupled with the fact that his arm has been in the same position for over an hour already. To his surprise, the artist announces he’s done. Dean looks down at his arm, but like the real handprint, the angle makes it difficult to see fully.

The artist peels off his gloves and tosses them in the trash. “There’s a mirror just outside at the end of the hall,” he says pointing at the direction Dean needs to go.

It’s easy enough to find and Dean pauses before he turns his body to get a better look.

And there it is. Cas’s handprint. Well, not _his,_ but close enough. Dean had thought about simply putting the original print back on, but this is much better than he’d imagined.

It’s still a handprint, but it’s comprised of numerous dark grey, nearly black feathers, some whole, some only pieces. The rachis and barbs of the feathers as well as the outline of the tattoo are inked in a bright blue, symbolizing Cas’s grace. Cas’s name sits in the center of the palm print.

 

 

He can hardly believe what he’s seeing. It’s perfect. Dean is about to touch the tattoo when the artist startles him.

“Nope. Don’t want to touch it.”

“Right. Yeah. I forgot.”

“You like it?”

“It’s perfect.”

**~oOo~**

Dean stands dressed in only a towel and stares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He’s just gotten out of the shower having carefully cleaned his new tattoo. The skin is still inflamed and he wants to touch it. Even though it won’t feel scarred like the original, he still feels that he’ll be connected to Castiel.

Sam’s voice cuts through his fog. “Dean?”

“Just a sec,” he calls back. But before he can reach for his shirt Sam barges into the room.

“I’m just gonna -” Sam stops in his tracks, his gaze focused on the tattoo.

Dean can’t look him in the eye. “Hey, Sam.”

“Did you -?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow.” Sam steps toward him, his hand outstretched as if to touch the new artwork. Dean flinches. Sam pulls his hand back and holds it up in surrender. “Sorry.”

Dean nods. “It’s still healing. You’re not supposed to touch it.”

“It’s good.”

“Thanks.” This is as many words as they’ve spoken to each other in the past few days and he’s grateful that Sam is actually saying anything to him. “Did you need something?” Dean asks as he puts his t-shirt on.

“I was just going out for a run,” Sam says, and Dean just now notices that Sam’s dressed in his running clothes.

“Okay. Have fun,” he says awkwardly. Sam nods.

Sam pauses in the doorway. He doesn’t turn around. “Does he know?”

Dean looks at the drain in front of him. “No.”

Sam nods and leaves.

“Dammit,” Dean mutters. He finishes getting dressed and heads to the kitchen for some coffee. He’s debating whether or not he should add some whisky to it.

A few minutes later, mug in hand, Dean sits at the table in the library, absently flipping through whatever tome Sam has left there. The words don’t register, and the occasional picture barely pings his radar. He has no idea what he’s doing. He flips the book closed and mutters a quiet “Shit,” for not saving Sam’s place. He figures that’s the least of his transgressions with his brother.

He ends up staring into space for a while. He’s so lost in his own head that he doesn’t notice the presence that slipped into the room.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean twitches in surprise and some of his coffee spills on his hand. Cas has surprised him so many times, he thinks he should be accustomed to it by now, but apparently he isn’t. He switches hands with the coffee cup and shakes off the warm liquid, ultimately wiping the back of his hand on his jeans.

“Hey, Cas.”

“I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No, I know.” Dean sits up and leans his elbows on the table. “How’s Sam doing?”

Cas pulls the chair out opposite him and sits. “Your brother is healing. It will take some more time.”

“Yeah, I just hope he’s talking to me again by the time he’s fixed.”

“He will. His anger will subside.” Cas sounds certain, but this is one time when Dean isn’t so sure. Sam had been ready to die, but Dean wasn’t ready to let him go.

Dean takes another sip of his un-whiskyed coffee and sighs. “You got any ideas on when that will be?”

“I’m working with borrowed grace, Dean. There is only so much I can do.”

“I know. I appreciate what you’re doing for him.”

“Of course. He’s my friend. I’d do the same for you.”

Dean huffs a small laugh. _Friend,_ he thinks forlornly. “Yeah, you would.”

Cas furrows his brow and leans in closer, scrutinizing Dean’s face. “Are _you_ all right, Dean?”

Momentarily thrown for a loop, Dean covers with the bravado he’s practiced for nearly his entire life. “Me? Yeah. I’m good.” He makes an “okay” motion with his arm, forgetting about the tattoo. It pulls his skin and he winces despite himself.

Cas is up in a flash and around the table. “That didn’t sound okay, Dean. What did you do?”

“It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“Dean Winchester, so help me…”

“Cas,” he says forcefully. “I’m fine.”

“I can heal you now.”

“I know. Save it for Sammy. He needs it more than me.”

“Then you are injured.”

_Damnit._

“Is it your shoulder?” Cas reaches for Dean’s shoulder, but Dean pulls back.

“I - I got a tattoo.”

That makes Cas straighten up. “You did? Can I see it?”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Dean says, blushing.

“Why not?” Cas cocks his head to the side in that adorable puppy dog way, and Dean wonders where the hell that thought came from.

“I just - it’s personal.”

Cas deflates instantly. “Oh,” is all he manages to say. He turns away and without another word, exits the library.

“Fuck.”

**~oOo~**

“Did you tell him?”

Dean bristles.

“I guess that’s a no, then.”

He places his hands on the kitchen counter, keeping his back to Sam. Dean sighs and rolls his eyes. “What am I supposed to say, Sam? _Hey, Cas. How are you? Any leads on Gadreel? Did you know I got your name tattooed on my body?”_

Sam throws his hands up in frustration. “Yes. That’s exactly what you say to him.”

“You know I can’t do that.” Sam has no idea what he’s asking Dean to do. Just _tell_ Cas? No way in hell can he ever do that. It’s hard enough for him to tell _Sam_ what he’s feeling, let alone Cas.

“Why the hell not?” Sam throws his hands up in frustration. “Of course you can. Even _you_ aren’t that emotionally repressed.”

Dean’s words get softer and syllables oddly placed as he retorts, “You’re - emotion - ly repressed.” Sam snorts at him. “Shut up, bitch.”

“Jerk.” Sam shakes his head and heads out of the room.

Well, at least Sam is talking to him again. Sort of. It’s a start, and Dean will take whatever he can get after the last few weeks. Maybe by the time Sam is fully healed, they’ll be closer to their kind of normal.

Dean scrubs a hand over his face and wonders what to do next. There isn’t any case pressing, there aren’t any leads on Gadreel or Metatron, and he’s already caught up on the latest season of _Game of Thrones_ on Netflix.

He decides to wash Baby. They’ve been home a couple of days and he’s neglected her needs. He heads down to the garage and gathers his supplies.

He fills a bucket with some car soap and water, then points the hose at the car to wet her down, then dons a sheepskin mitt. No sponges for Baby. She gets the good stuff.

As he washes the Impala, Dean’s thoughts wander to the exact same place they do every time he’s alone with his thoughts for more than thirty seconds: Castiel. He wishes he could just come right out and tell the angel how he feels, but Cas isn’t just some pickup in a bar that doesn’t phase him if he gets turned down. Cas is much more important, and if he says no, it’ll crush him.

Better to be miserable and not know for certain than to be absolutely wretched knowing that Cas doesn’t love him back.

And there it is. The word Dean has been avoiding for years. He dips his hand back into the bucket for a fresh batch of suds as he berates himself for even daring to hope that Cas could ever love him after everything Dean’s done.

After Baby’s wash, Dean searches the garage for the chamois to dry her off. As he looks, he absently scratches his tattoo. Well, rubs it, really. He swipes his hand over it, just enough to calm the itch the healing skin makes. He doesn’t realize his t-shirt sleeve stays bunched up a bit.

It’s when he’s bent over, drying off the rear fender, the other hand on the trunk that it happens.

“Dean I -” Cas abruptly stops.

He doesn’t realize what’s wrong. “Hey, Cas. What’s up?”

Cas approaches him slowly. “Are those...feathers?”

Panic rises in Dean’s throat as he looks down at his arm and sees just how much of his tattoo shows from under his sleeve. He looks up at Cas trying to come up with something, _anything,_ to say. He may lie for a living, but he’ll be damned if he can come up with something right now.

“Dean.” Cas stands before him, his hand hovering over his arm, as if waiting for permission to touch the ink.

_Fuck,_ he thinks. He knows he’s caught, and he suddenly wonders why he ever thought he could hide it. Of course he couldn’t hide it. In retrospect, he’s surprised he was able to keep it hidden this long.

He slips his fingers under the sleeve, takes a deep breath, and hikes it up over his shoulder, exposing the entire piece. “Yeah. It’s feathers.” He can’t bring himself to look at Castiel, so he stares at his feet.

“And my name.” Dean nods. “Why?”

This is it. This is the moment he’s dreaded ever since he put the key in the ignition to drive up to Nebraska to get the tattoo. How does he put his decision into actual words? How can he possibly express what he was feeling when he drew the picture to begin with, let along getting it inked into his skin?

So he starts with the simplest words he can think of. “I - I missed the original.” He mentally kicks himself for just how fucking _stupid_ that sounds. Like he’s some emo teenager whose boyfriend broke up with her and gets a tattoo to prove her undying love to him.

Cas’s fingers skim the ink, the scabbing just barely started. His fingers feel good on Dean’s skin, and he sucks in a breath. Cas yanks his hand away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

And Dean’s heart just fucking _breaks_ because that’s not how it is at all. _He’s_ the one who hurt Cas by sending him away. He’s the one who ruins everything he touches. It’s a fact of Dean Winchester’s life. Everything he loves turns to shit by his own hand.

“Dean, please.” Cas’s voice pleads with Dean and he has no idea why, so he forces himself to look at him. “Whatever it is you’re thinking, you’re wrong.”

He doesn’t know why he occasionally forgets that Cas can tell what he’s thinking. Praying, really. He was praying he didn’t have to explain it.

“No, it didn’t hurt, it’s just - I liked your touch.” He can feel the blush spreading to his cheeks.

“Like this?” Cas asks as he lays his hand over the tattoo. “You like that?”

He nods. “I do.” He’s about to say something else when he feels the tattoo heal itself. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling, but it never ceases to amaze him.

“So, this tattoo. You go it because you wanted a reminder of the scar from when I pulled you out of Hell?” He cocks his head to the side, squinting at Dean trying to understand his rationale.

“Not exactly, no.”

“Then what?”

Dean feels the blush growing deeper, his cheeks heating even more. “You,” he says. “I wanted the reminder of you.” When Cas doesn’t respond, he continues, leaving nothing on the table. “You left. You were gone. And I’m the one who made you leave. I’d thought about getting it done before, and I don’t know why I didn’t, but this time just seemed, I don’t know, worse than the other times you were gone because it was my fault, not like when you ate all the leviathan or after Sam jumped into the pit, this was me. All me.”

He feels tears slip down his face and now he’s angry at himself for letting them fall. He doesn’t want Cas to see him like this, doesn’t really even want Cas to see him at all at this point because Dean’s such a fucking _mess_ , even more so than he usually is.

Cas gently grabs his face with both hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears. Dean tries to pull away but Cas won’t let him. _Stupid angel._

“Call me stupid all you want, but I love you, Dean Winchester.”

The world stopped spinning. It must have because there’s no way Dean just heard what he thought he heard. Maybe he’s having a stroke. Whatever it is, Dean hopes that he can have just that tiny bit of happiness before he dies.

“I love you, Dean. Hester was both incredibly wrong and so very right about you.”

“What are you talking about?” He tries to remember what she said.

“She said that your very touch corrupts.”

“It does.” He tries to pull away again, but once more, Cas stops him.

“In a way, yes. I knew that when I touched your soul in Hell, I loved you.”

Dean grips Cas’s wrists in an effort to pull his hands off his face. He should have known it wouldn’t work considering how strong he is.

“I did corrupt you. You turned away from Heaven.”

Cas smiles ruefully. “Hester said I was lost. She was right. I am lost. To you. Forever.”

Dean gives a little snort of disbelief, and before he can say anything else, Cas’s lips are on his, kissing him gently. Dean’s eyes widen comically before closing them and accepting the kiss. It’s soft with no urgency. It’s matter-of-fact, and it feels so natural, so easy, so _right_ that Dean wraps his hands around Cas and pulls him closer.

Neither of them notice Sam, standing at the opposite end of the garage, grinning from ear to ear.

 

**Author's Note:**

> OMG. You guys. This art just makes my heart melt. It was lovingly crafted by [DMSilvasArt](https://dmsilvisart.tumblr.com/) and I can't praise her enough. I kinda sorta want to get that tattoo now. Don't judge.
> 
> PS: Shout out to [Metatron-the-Transformer](http://metatron-the-transformer.tumblr.com/) aka [jade_maiden_333](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jade_maiden_333) for the last minute beta.


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